


Out of Business

by prideofportree



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Actor Jared, Actor Jensen, Alternate Universe, Banter, Bisexual Jensen, Canada, Curling, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mish and Jackles, Romantic Comedy, SPN is not very successful, Vancouver, Wakes & Funerals, black humour, plotty subplot, undertaker Misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideofportree/pseuds/prideofportree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jensen’s estranged uncle dies and he suddenly finds himself in charge of arranging a funeral for somebody that he doesn’t really know in a country that he doesn’t really understand, he is fortunate enough to stumble upon the snarkiest undertaker in Canada who helps him along the way. On their quest to discover the late Ernie Ackles’s life-story, Jensen undergoes many pivotal experiences, such as having a tea party with an adorable old lady, learning how to play curling, or falling in love with a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Business

**Author's Note:**

> -The adorable illustrations you will find inside this fic were done by the talented Sammy [princessjimmynovak](http://princessjimmynovak.tumblr.com/) \- [here's the art masterpost](http://princessjimmynovak.tumblr.com/post/144920981894/art-for-out-of-business-by-theangeloffriday-ao3).  
> -I would also like to thank Kat [norwegianpornfaerie](http://norwegianpornfaerie.tumblr.com) for helping me edit this piece. Best beta ever.

The first time Jensen meets Misha Collins is on a Friday.

They wrapped early today – a rare occurrence – and it’s not raining – also a rare occurrence for Vancouver – and so he decides to make a detour on his way home from the studio, stopping his battered blue Toyota in front of a renovated red brick warehouse with a _Collins Funerals_ sign proudly displayed in the window.

Misha Collins definitely doesn’t fit the image of an undertaker in Jensen’s head.

Granted, the image in Jensen’s head is based on _Lucky Luke_ , in which the undertaker is old, thin, with yellow skin, top hat, and a pet vulture on his shoulder, so _obviously_ , he knows that that’s not what anyone looks like in real life, but nevertheless, this guy has still managed to throw him for a loop.

For one, Misha Collins seems to be everything _but_ old, thin, and yellow. In fact, if the buttons on his tight little waistcoat barely hanging by their threads are anything to go by, it’s more like he’s ...hot? Which is all kinds of disturbingly distracting when you’re about to hire the man to take care of your dead uncle’s funeral.

Jensen realises he’s staring, so he quickly averts his gaze, clearing his throat.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Ackles?” Misha asks, watching him like a hawk from across his desk.

“Yeah. We can start anytime,” Jensen nods back, determined not to feel too overwhelmed by all this, even though his head is already spinning (although maybe that’s from the lack of lunch and dinner today).

“Well if you’re sure…” Misha quirks an eyebrow before diving under his desk and re-emerging with a stack of black leather clad binders about as high as the freaking Sun Tower. “You really ok?” he asks one more time, eyeing Jensen, who can’t help but blush. “It’s ok to take some time, you know. We don’t need to rush into these decisions.”

“I don’t need time,” he says, maybe a bit too quickly, because it makes Misha’s eyebrow climb even higher up his forehead, and he reaches for the first binder. “Let’s just do it.”

“Well ok, so, first off, we have the coffin,” Misha says, opening the binder and leafing through the pages so fast Jensen doesn’t have the slightest chance of catching sight of anything inside. “There are a couple of things to consider: the size, the wood, and the lining, for sure. Personally, I’m a fan of the traditional pine casket, but we also offer walnut, cherry, oak, mahogany, poplar and maple, of course.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Jensen parrots in a weak voice. Right about now, he’s very glad he’s sitting down. Who knew there were so many frickin’ things to decide for a funeral! And it’s only the beginning. And how _the hell_ is he supposed to make any of these decisions?

Misha swiftly picks up the second binder. “Next, the obituary. There are over a hundred suggestions for an epitaph in this baby – I’ve been collecting them for five years,” he adds with a hint of a proud smile. “They get more sarcastic as you go on, some people like that sort of thing.”

At this point Jensen is breathing through his nose so vigorously he knows he must be looking ridiculous. Misha, to his credit, seems quite unfazed, though, as he continues leafing through the binders.

“Flowers. We have a great selection of lilies and roses – those are always a good choice, but if your uncle was more of an extravagant person, you might want to look further at some of my carnation arrangements. There are, of course, other options.”

He throws another black binder in front of Jensen. “Music. Church-y pieces and hymns at the beginning, classic rock ballads, musicals and opera tunes in the middle, football or hockey songs and film soundtracks at the back. And yes, we do offer the _Lord of the Rings_ and _The Hobbit_ soundtracks, but if you’re thinking about using _The Last Goodbye_ or _Into the West,_ I have to warn you – the last time there were people genuinely breaking down during the ceremony. Oh and you can bring your own music, but there’s an extra charge and it has to be an original CD.”

Jensen doesn’t quite know what to say right now. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. In fact, his throat is feeling really dry and his face is feeling really strange, like it’s about to fall off, and...

“Mr. Ackles! Hey, are you ok?”

Jensen blinks a couple of times, the colours of the world slowly coming back. Misha is standing next to the window, one hand on the frame as he holds it open, the cool afternoon air slowing down the pulsing in Jensen’s temples. Aw, fuck, did he actually almost faint in a funeral home? Jared is never going to let him live that down.

Misha, meanwhile, is looking at him with concern, which is only slightly less embarrassing than if he were looking at him like he was crazy.

“Maybe have a sip of water?” he says, gesturing towards the glass in front of him. “You really scared me, man. I don’t know what I’d do if you actually fainted. I don’t even have a sofa here, just a couple of coffins in the back...”

Jensen attempts a smile, waving his hand. “I think I just got a little bit overwhelmed and my blood sugar got low. It’s been a long week…”

He takes a drink of Misha’s water and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to get too grossed out about the drops of cold sweat on his skin.

“Look, full disclosure, I didn’t really know my uncle. I think I saw him once back in the US long before he moved up here, but I was about yay high then. That stack of binders you got here just looks like a particularly morbid game of Jenga to me, nothing more.”

Misha’s smile widens. “Well, why didn’t you say so before? Here I was starting to think you were one of those ignorant relatives who just wanted to get the funeral over with. I really hate those,” he adds, showing his teeth in a brilliant smile.

Jensen chuckles. “I was going to put it off as long as I could, but then I realised that that’s probably not very kosher when you’ve got a dead uncle on ice somewhere, uh…” he rubs his temples with his fingers.

Misha nods. “Can I ask you why is it you who’s taking care of this? Are you the only living relative? Or were you the only one available?”

Jensen leans back in his chair. “The second one. I’m sure you can tell by my accent that my family is not from around here. The fact that me and my uncle were in the same city when he passed is pretty much a coincidence.”

Misha squints back at him. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I mean, I’m not going to feed you some bullshit about fate, but I’ve been around for nearly four decades and I’ve lived through some crap and one thing I’ve taken from all of it was that it was the people that I’ve met and the places I’ve been that got me to where I am today. It’s about the encounters. The connections. Everything is important.”

Jensen frowns. “Well, my uncle is dead and our last encounter was a long time ago...” he trails away, slightly confused.

Misha shrugs. “It doesn't have to be so straightforward. I just mean, for instance, you might run into a homeless person on a street corner and give them some spare change and ten years later they might still be in touch with you, have their own business and give you free goods. That’s not a freaking coincidence.”

“Is that story real?” Jensen squints his eyes. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me, but I feel like that story is real.”

Misha winks at him. “Maybe it’s not. But I still got a couple decades in these old bones, I think, so I hope there’ll be more stories like that one to support my hypothesis.”

Jensen snorts. “Ok, settle down, Walt Whitman, you’re practically a baby. Plus, you look great, so… um, you’re good,” he says, as he tries not to stare at the undertaker’s piercingly blue eyes or the pink bow of his lip. (And whoa, this is _really_ getting out of hand.)

Misha beams at him. “Well thank you! I’d like to tell you that it’s just good genes, but unfortunately it does take _a little_ work. Sadly, undertaking doesn’t require much physical strength nowadays since we don’t have to dig the graves anymore, so I go for runs instead.”

Jensen laughs. Is this guy actually for real? This must be the craziest yet best conversation he’s had in months, and that says a lot considering who he’s best friends with.

“So what are we going to do about this funeral of yours? Gotta tell you, I’m scared to even mention the binders again, you might _actually_ pass out on me this time,” Misha teases.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I promise I’ll try to contain myself. But… I wasn’t kidding earlier. I’m at the end of my rope here. Maybe I should just get him something basic and simple. Say he was a nice guy and that he died peacefully? That should do it. I don’t think anyone but my folks and siblings are gonna show up for the service anyway.”

Misha cocks his head to one side. “Did he, though?”

“What,” Jensen frowns in confusion.

“Die peacefully? I mean, you claim you haven’t talked to him in decades, so there’s no way you could know, unless you had, like, surveillance cameras in his apartment.”

“Where are you going with this?” Jensen’s frown deepens.

Misha taps his chin with his index finger. “It’s quite simple. You go to his apartment, you take a looksie at his personal belongings, you find out what his musical tastes were like, so we don’t torture his poor soul with _Lord of the Rings_ when he might have hated those movies _,_ and you try and find out whether there were any special people in his past who might want to come to the funeral. Easy as pie.”

“Uh…” Jensen blinks. “I mean, it’s certainly not gonna hurt to try, but I know for a fact that uncle Ernie didn’t have any friends. He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, to put it another way. He moved to Canada in the early eighties and nobody from the family heard from him since. Not that he ever wanted to contact anybody…” he trails off.

“But you don’t know what he’s been doing up here, do you? Maybe he joined a hockey team! Maybe there’s a whole bunch of his teammates somewhere scattered across Canada who have no idea that their buddy died.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

Misha smiles. “But that’s not the point. The point is, _you don’t know_.”

Jensen shrugs. “Even if I wanted to do this… I don’t have much time. And say I put all this time into this and ‘take a looksie’, as you say, I pick the right box, the right flowers, and the right music, spending big money that I don’t even have on this thing, and then nobody comes anyway?”

Misha scratches at his five o’clock shadow, the sound making the hair on Jensen’s forearms stand up. “As for the money, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out...” He gives him a meaningful glance and Jensen can feel his face heat up, pretty sure he’s blushing like the ripest tomato right now.

“Um…” he starts, his voice breaking a little. (And _goddammit_.)

Misha, having just cottoned onto Jensen’s trail of thoughts, bursts out laughing.

“Jesus, man. I didn’t mean it like that. I _meant_ we’ll make sure to pick a cheaper casket and smaller venue and less excessive flower pieces. Funerals can be expensive, but it’s all about budgeting these days. Just like with weddings – only much easier because the actual client doesn’t have any say,” he adds with a playful smile.

“Seriously, dude?” Jensen snorts, relaxing a little.

Misha just rolls his eyes. “I can for sure stop with the jokes if you want, but correct me if I’m wrong; I’m sensing you like them, Mr. Ackles.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, but laughs anyway. “Could you just call me Jensen, please?” He extends his hand across the desk. “I think that after almost fainting in your office, we can just skip the formalities.”

The skin around the Misha’s eyes crinkles as he smiles when he squeezes Jensen’s fingers. “In that case, I suppose you can call me Misha. Wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed about your damsel-in-distress moment.”

Jensen breathes in through his nose, rolling his eyes again. “So Misha, tell me, are you this _familiar_ with _all_ your customers or am I special, then?”

Misha snorts. “I’ll have you know I’m a model of professionalism with my regular customers. And let me specify that when I say _regular_ , I mean _average_ , and not as ‘she comes here on regular basis to arrange a funeral for her late husbands’. That would be weird. And suspicious and I should probably call the cops.”

Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “Are you always this ridiculous?”

Misha winks. “I try.”

“Is it even a real name? I mean, _Misha?_ Really?” Jensen pronounces the name again, tasting it on his tongue. “It sounds like it should belong to a Russian flying trapeze artist and not a Canadian undertaker.”

Misha squints at him. “Oh, look who’s talking, _Jensen._ Did they actually misspell that in the hospital when you were born? Or is your family actually Danish?”

Jensen laughs. “Point taken. And no, American born and bred.”

Misha offers him a cheeky smile. “Oh, I know. You’re an actor. You’re in that one show on the CW.”

Jensen blinks. “Wait – you watch _Places_? So is _that_ why you treat me differently than other clients?”

Misha laughs. “Come on, I thought we established it was your damsel-in-distress moment, really,” he waggles his eyebrows, looking straight at Jensen and he is once again taken aback by how blue Misha’s eyes are.

He feels his blush spread down to his neck and chest. Undertakers don’t flirt with their customers, do they? And definitely not with this much blatant nonchalance. Or is he wrong? On top of that, he _thinks_ he might actually be flirting back a little.

And liking it.

He frowns. What a fucking mess.

Misha waves his hand. “Honestly, no offence, but I don’t care that you’re an actor. This is Vancouver. Everyone’s a fucking actor. Well, I’m not. I hang out with corpses,” he flashes a smile. “As for your show, I wouldn’t call it _watching_ per se. I tend to put it on mute when I do the coffins. The actors are very easy on the eyes.”

Jensen feels his ears go red. Misha is not even pretending anymore, is he? He decides to be strong for the both of them. “Hold on, so you really make the coffins yourself?”

Misha flashes his teeth again. “Well, duh. That’s how I actually got into this whole business. I was a carpenter, originally. For example, I made everything you see in this room. The desk, the chairs... Wasn’t as lucrative as I thought it would be, though, so I decided to branch out a little.”

“ _A little_. Right.” Jensen blinks several times, trying not to think of sweaty Misha covered in wood-shavings. “So how does one transition from being a carpenter to touching dead people and handing packets of tissues to heartbroken widows?”

Misha chuckles. “And taking care of _all the fainting men_ , yes.” He leans back in his chair. “It’s actually fairly common for carpenters to be making caskets. And I like helping people,” he shrugs. “Planning a funeral can be difficult and stressful and my mission is to make it as quick and painless for the family as possible.”

“And make a lot of money on the side.” Jensen adds, rolling his eyes.

Misha laughs. “Right, Jensen, I am a horrible person who makes money off dead people, just like divorce lawyers are horrible people because they make money off unhappy marriages and doctors are horrible people because they make money off sick children. You get paid to pretend that ghosts are real as you fake-fuck your way through hundreds of female cast-mates.”

Jensen can’t help but snort at that. “I thought you didn't really watch the show. But touché. How did you get into the funeral industry, anyway?”

Misha shrugs. “Like I told you, I was a carpenter first, quite young, having just moved to the city... the business went ok, but not quite as fast as I would like, then a buddy of mine – Robbie – got me couple of coffin jobs and they must have been a real hit with the ladies at the funerals, because soon enough I was doing little else. And then I thought, why not actually try and do the whole shabang? I mean, the casket is obviously the most important thing, the other stuff is just some mumbo jumbo a monkey could do. The rest is history.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows. “Mumbo jumbo, huh?”

Misha smirks. “You know what I mean. Now listen,” he says, sitting up straighter behind his desk and steepling his fingers like some kind of an evil mastermind. “To get back to the point. I say we have your uncle Ernie decide what he wants his funeral to look like.”

Jensen laughs. “Ok, dude, not to burst your bubble, but I don’t think uncle Ernie can decide anything at the moment. He’s sort of, uh, cashed all of his chips.”

Misha beams.

“Ah but that’s where you’re wrong, my friend.”

Jensen snorts. “Let me guess, his ghost will haunt me if I don’t do it right. Are you sure you only have _Places_ on as background noise? Because you sure sound like one of my scripts.”

Misha cocks his head to one side. “I never said anything about a ghost, Jensen.”

“So?”

“Exactly. So?”

Jensen frowns. “What?”

Misha beams. “Exactly! So what! So I’m going to help you dig through your dead uncle’s stuff and we’ll organise the funeral that he deserves. You in?”

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hold up, man, you’re already inviting yourself along? That’s some extra special service. I don’t think that even falls under the knight-in-shining-armour duties anymore. Maybe we should just–”

“What if this is you in a couple of decades, Jensen?” Misha jumps in, giving him a wistful look.

Jensen frowns. “You being philosophical again?”

“I’m serious, Jensen. I mean, you’re single – alone, presumably, living in Canada, starring in a TV show only fifth graders would want to watch… _should I go on_?”

Jensen crosses his arms on his chest. “Are you a therapist on the sly or something?”

Misha chuckles. “No, but carpenting sometimes comes very close to meditation, if that helps. Working with wood is relaxing,” he adds with a playful smile, which does _not_ help matters at all.

Jensen sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. He thought it would be quick and easy; get in, order a casket and a bunch of flowers, get out. But no, out of all the funeral parlours in Vancouver, he just _had_ to walk into one with a crazy undertaker who is _strangely compelling_ and won’t take no for an answer.

Maybe Misha does have a point, though. Ernie certainly does deserve a proper funeral with flowers and music that he would actually _like_. And some people who knew him during his life to attend. Jensen feels like he would have liked someone to at least try if this was his funeral, his last goodbye, his casket… _dammit_.

He sighs. “Any chance you might give me a discount if I let you help me?”

Misha beams so hard the whole office seems to light up.

* * *

The first time he mentions his peculiar encounter with Misha to Jared is on a Monday and it’s raining buckets outside.

They’re taking a coffee break between scenes and they’re both already drained from all the extra slightly-but-not-really-different takes Bob has made them do today (And curse the writers for not actually knowing what they want for once in their lives.) and Jared has to actually lean against the wall so he doesn’t fall over from how much he’s laughing, making Jensen rolls his eyes.

Typical Jared.

“I’m glad you find it so funny. And here I was thinking that you’d actually offer me some compassion.”

Jared wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes, taking some of the makeup with them (the makeup girl glowers at them from nearby and Jensen shoots her an apologetic smile). “I’m sorry, but this is just your luck, dude,” Jared giggles.

Jensen resists the urge to pout. “ _That’s_ exactly what _I_ thought.”

“How did you even find this guy? There must be hundreds of funeral parlours in Vancouver.

Jensen sighs. “I don’t even know. I was driving and it was just _there_. I thought I was making it easy on myself.”

Jared laughs. “This is getting better and better. Plus, I didn’t even _know_ you had an uncle in Vancouver.”

Jensen shrugs. “Turns out he lives only a couple blocks away from my apartment. Well, _lived_ , anyway,” he grimaces. “He’s dead. Like, really dead. Finito. He’s gone out of business. Crazy, right?”

Jared pats him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss by the way, but the funeral home story is still hilarious. Did you seriously faint in front of the dude? And wow, maybe you should ask around the set if anyone knows this parlour. To make sure it’s not too shady. I mean, for all we know, this guy might be a psychopath.”

“First of all, _I did not faint_ , I just forgot to eat that day, that’s all. And I’m way ahead of you. Josie from hair and makeup says he’s the best in the city. She said he did both her grandparents’ funerals and even recommended them a guy who does the tombstones. Apparently his best friend is a stonemason,” he adds in an amused tone. “ _Canada_ , man.”

Jared snorts. “So hang on a minute, people here actually _know_ this guy and they literally told you he’s the best and you’re still on the fence about him?”

“I’m not on the fucking fence, Padalecki. It’s just… uh, the guy makes me nervous. You should have seen the way he looked at me. I’m about thirty-four percent sure he was flirting with me.”

Jared’s eyebrows disappear under his bangs. “That’s a weirdly specific number, dude.”

“Fifty, then. The point is, I think he likes me.”

Jared gives him a strange look. “And? Is that something you think _you_ might like, maybe?”

Jensen frowns, avoiding Jared’s eyes. “What do you mean?” (He knows what Jared means.)

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna play that game with you where you pretend you’re not attracted to men in front of me, because you think I might take offense or something. Get over yourself, dude, it’s 2016 and you’re in actual Canada.”

“You know it doesn’t mean anything when you say ‘actual’ Canada, right? It’s still just Canada.”

“You’re changing the topic, Ackles. We’re discussing serious matters here, dude.”

Jensen exhales loudly through his nose. “I still don’t know what you mean,” he says. (He still does.)

“I _mean_ maybe you want to do a little bit of the horizontal mumbo jumbo with your sexy undertaker,” Jared suggests, waggling his eyebrows like a fifteen year old.

“Please don’t use the words mumbo jumbo in this context in my proximity ever again,” Jensen pulls a face.

“Would you girls stop chit-chatting in the corner and get your asses on your marks? We’re already behind schedule,” Bob yells from the set and they both hurry over there, not really interested in being the target of his wrath today (or ever).

* * *

The first time he sees Misha out of his undertaking clothes is on a Thursday and it _definitely_ doesn’t make matters any easier.

“You do this often, then?” Jensen asks casually as he tries to open his uncle’s apartment door with the set of keys he got from the lawyer.

Misha, who is leaning against the wall next to him wearing an honest-to-god leather jacket, tapping something out on his phone, quirks an eyebrow. “Define what _this_ is?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Personally help your customers with this stuff? Taking a trip to the homes of the deceased and going through their things?” He gruffs as another key on the ring turns out to be wrong for the lock and picks out another one, attempting to jam it into the hole by force. “It’s a bit creepy, dude. Just saying.”

“I thought we discussed this already, Jensen. _Of course not._ That would be extremely unprofessional of me,” Misha winks, pocketing his phone and poking Jensen in the ribs. “Give me that.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows, but hands him the set of keys anyway, hoping there’s some kind of secret Canadian way of telling which of the keys might actually fit the damn lock.

Misha holds up the keys in front of his face and squints. “But if you’re talking about being helpful to my clients, then yes, I do this very often, I suppose. I think it’s important to not only give great service to the families, but also to the deceased themselves. I often find that some of the surviving relatives care very little about what the deceased might think of the ceremonies. So I take it upon myself to nudge them in the right direction. _Aha_ ,” he adds, as he finally finds a key he likes and uses it to promptly unlock the apartment.

“So basically you’re a puppet master,” Jensen chuckles. “And how did you do _that_?” he adds in an offended tone, pointing at the door.

“Elementary! The key had the same colour as the lock, dear Watson,” Misha exclaims in a horrible fake British accent. “And no, I wouldn’t call myself that. I prefer to be called Supreme Overlord.”

He rubs his hands as they enter the apartment together (although Jensen does push Misha aside so he can come in first; he does have some dignity left in him).

“Alright, where shall we start then?”

Jensen snorts. “Your guess is as good as mine – I’ve never been here before.”

Misha’s face falls. “So you _really_ didn’t know your uncle at all?”

Jensen shakes his head as he feels along the wall for the light switch. “I thought I told you like a hundred times man, we only met once, when I was a boy, back in Dallas. He moved up here and nobody heard from him since.”

“We should probably get cracking, then,” Misha muses.

When the lights are finally on, Jensen looks around the apartment in anticipation.

The thing is, he’s been expecting it to look like what one would generally expect an old man’s apartment to look like – but when he takes it all in, he can barely suppress a shiver running down his spine. The place looks _so much_ like his own apartment it’s spooky; and it’s not just the furniture, it’s how it’s decorated. The brown couch under the window, the lime green kitchen cabinets, the leather armchair standing on a cream-coloured rug…

“Hey, are you ok?” Misha is suddenly by Jensen’s side, obviously sensing his unease, which is either creepy or embarrassing, maybe both, Jensen can’t really make that call right now.. “Do you need to sit down? You’re looking a bit peaky there. Wouldn’t want you to faint on me again,” Misha jokes.

Jensen ignores the jab and shakes his head no, his stomach turning at the thought of sitting down in a dead man’s chair.

Misha apparently doesn’t have similar concerns, because he plops down in the middle of the couch and looks around with visible curiosity in his eyes.

“You seem to have a strong reaction to this place,” he assesses.

Jensen shakes his head. “Yeah, no, it’s just-” he breathes in through his nose, “that it looks pretty similar to my apartment, that’s all.”

Misha cocks his head to one side. “Strong genetics? Although I have to say I’m a bit disappointed to hear that your own apartment is so depressing. Don’t you have, like, whole suitcases full of money? I mean you’re an actor, you should be able to afford a nice place, right?”

Jensen can’t help but roll his eyes at that.

“You know nobody outside of Canada actually watches _Places_ , right? Besides, even if I had bags of money, I wouldn’t spend them on decorations or expensive furniture. I’m barely home as it is. It’d just be a waste,” he shrugs.

Misha cocks his head to the other side. “Like I said – depressing.”

Jensen clears his throat. “Right. We should look around for something useful, I guess. I have no freaking idea where to start, though.”

Misha springs up from the couch and taps his finger against his lower lip a couple of times.

“I suggest we start in the bedroom,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Jensen almost chokes on his own spit.

* * *

The first time he admits to himself that he kind of can’t stop thinking about Misha, it’s another Friday and he’d be happy to be spending it with his two best friends if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“So you just found a bunch of tapes and some old letters?” Jared’s eyebrows raise skeptically while Felicia creeps in closer on his other side to listen in on their conversation.

“Tapes and letters?” she whispers. “Are you talking about your dead uncle’s house?”

They’re all at a _Places_ meeting and they should probably pay attention to what Bob is saying up there on his little stage, but the truth is, most of these meetings are so unnecessary they prefer to use them to catch up on each other’s lives instead. Bob’s wrath be damned.

Jensen nods. “There were whole boxes of unmarked cassette tapes out there along with stacks and stacks of papers and a bunch on old letters. Misha suggested I take them to mine and go over them to learn more about uncle Ernie.”

Jared snorts while Felicia’s eyes twinkle with interest. “Misha? The undertaker who’s arranging the funeral for you? You’re on first name basis with him?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and elbows Jared in the ribs for a good measure. “So what if I am?”

Felicia shrugs. “Nothing, I just think it’s a bit peculiar. Have you found anything interesting yet?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I haven’t had the time to look into it yet, but I think I’ll try on the weekend. Anything’s better than being the third wheel to Jared and Gen while they make googly eyes at each other at the bar.”

Jared gives him a toothy smile and a thumbs up while Felicia nods in sympathy.

“Let me know if you need any help. Also, you totally need to tell me more about this Misha person. Jared was suggesting you guys were flirting at the funeral parlour, which, by the way, is totally inappropriate and super awesome.”

“I never met the guy, but I can already tell there’s some serious sexual tension happening between the two of them,” Jared confirms from his seat while swinging one long leg over the other and almost knocking over the person in the chair in front of him. “I mean, you said there was flirting, right?”

“I never said we were _both_ flirting,” Jensen frowns at Jared. “There’s nothing going on between me and Misha besides the fact that he insists on being snarky to me because I’m not ‘a regular customer’. There might be some flirting on his side, but it’s definitely not reciprocated. By me I mean,” his frown deepens.

He will _not_ let them pressure him into this.

Jared chuckles. “Yeah, you keep telling that to yourself, brother.”

Felicia draws a breath like she wants to add something else, but they’re all suddenly brought back to reality when they realise Bob has gone silent and is now glowering down at them from behind his tiny eyebrow frame glasses that are sliding down his sweaty nose.

“If you’re quite done, the three of you,” Bob says, “we would now like to discuss some of the immediate storylines your characters will go through during the next few days, just so we all know what we’re doing.”

“ _Oh jeez_ , ok, mom,” Jared mutters under his breath like a teenage boy and pulls his beanie down over his forehead so that it’s almost covering his eyes while Jensen sits up a little bit straighter to at least _look_ like he’s paying some attention. After all, anything is better at this point than dodging nosy questions about Misha. Especially when he’s so confused about the man already without any additional nagging from his friends.

Jensen is not stupid. He’s not homophobic either. He’s also not repressed (as Jared keeps suggesting). He freaking _knows_ he’s attracted to men – hell, he’s always been, ever since he can remember. _The thing is_ , he is also very much attracted to women, which has always been his saving grace, in a way. Basically, the world’s a bitch, especially if you’re growing up in Texas and you’re interested in taking drama classes and singing, so if there’s anything you can do to improve your status quo, then you simply _do it,_ otherwise the bullies have you for breakfast.

That’s why Jensen only ever dates _women_ and only ever acts on his attraction towards _women._ It’s not always easy, but it is easi _er_ than to hide or lie. Or so Jensen keeps telling himself everytime he finds himself infatuated with a man. It doesn’t happen all that often, what with the myriads of beautiful women he meets daily thanks to his job, but it _happens_.

And sometimes it’s really difficult to let it go...

“As I was saying,” Bob goes back to his notes and Jensen cocks his head to one side, regaining his concentration, “Jam and Drew will be dealing with a lot of emotional stress brought on by their clashing personalities...”

“ _Surprise surprise,_ ” Felicia mumbles next to Jensen who has a hard time keeping a straight face.

“While Marley will help them out with her badass hacking skills.”

“Damn straight!” she exclaims. “I mean lesbian! _Damn lesbian!_ ” she correct herself. “Did you hear? Badass hacking skills, dude. _That’s_ what I’m talking about,” she tells Jensen in a normal voice. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’m about to get killed off, though,” she bites on her lower lip. “That’d suck. I just put a deposit on this new place.”

Jensen waves his hand. “They wouldn’t dare. You’re like the only female character on the show right now. The fans would eat them alive.”

Felicia raises her eyebrows. “So we have fans now, huh?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I’m sure we do. They’re just quiet. Into weird stuff. Not fans of the sun. You know – the regular types.”

Felicia squints her eyes at him. “I hope you’re talking about vampires for your own good, because if you’re talking about the nerds online, who – just by the way – are probably the only reason we still have this job, then you’re being a real poophead.”

Jensen rolls his eyes again. “I’m sorry, ok? I’m just saying that they’d freak if Singer decided to give Marley the sack, ok? That’s keeping you in the game. That’s good.”

Felicia’s squint intensifies. “You really need to spend more time on the internet, Jensen. Maybe it’d even make your internalised homophobia go away.”

And really, Jensen doesn’t have anything to say to that.

* * *

The first time Jensen contemplates inviting Misha over to his place it’s a Saturday, he’s elbows deep in dusty old crap, and he feels like dying himself.

“This is incredible, Jensen. This changes everything!” Felicia squeals for the fiftieth time as she leafs through the transcript, her eyes big as tennis balls.

They’re sitting on the carpeted floor of Jensen’s apartment in the middle of a myriad of documents, tapes, and various boxes that Jensen brought over from Ernie’s place.

“Just incredible!” Felicia exclaims again, her thin shoulders falling in awe.

Jensen scratches the back of his head. “Yep, you said that already, Fel. I’m not sure how useful all this will be, though. It’s just a bunch of old crap that takes up a lot of space...”

Felicia looks up with a shocked expression in her eyes. “How _useful_ it can b-” she pauses, drawing a breath through her nose. “This is gold right here, dude! The proof that your uncle wasn’t just a grumpy old man! Or at least not before he moved into that creepy doppelgänger of your apartment. You need to find as much about this as you can! I mean, _wow_ , Jensen. Your uncle was an actual actor!”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Well according to this, he was a _voice actor_. And amateur one, too. There’s a big difference, all right? But that’s besides the point. You realise this radio show, or whatever it’s supposed to be, must have been on air in, like, the 80s? In frickin’ Canada? We’ll never find out any details.”

Felicia frowns. “Well, this is the 2010s, which means we have the internet. And all the correspondence that you’re refusing to look at,” she adds pointedly.

Jensen glances down at the small box of letters sitting next to him on the carpet. “I don’t like this. Isn’t this breaching some kind of law, anyway? The privacy of correspondence, right?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What if it’s really personal?” He blinks furiously. “What if it’s _dirty_?!”

Felicia laughs. “All the more reason to read it, don’t you think? But dude, he’s dead, ok? It’s not like he could sue you. Also you’re his nephew, aren’t you? You probably inherited these anyway. It’s your property. Open the damn letters!”

Jensen throws another skeptic look at the box. “I guess...”

“Maybe you should call Misha,” Felicia muses. “From what you said, that guy can play you like a fiddle. He’ll probably know what to do. Within the limits of personal freedom, of course, since you’re all about following the law tonight,” she adds a little bit more mischievously.

Jensen’s insides turn to lead. “Absolutely not. I am not calling that guy.”

One hour later Jensen finds himself opening the door of his apartment to his uncle’s undertaker at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night.

To Misha’s credit, he doesn’t seem fazed by being called up so late at night, his gentle smile firmly on his face when Jensen opens the door. He does have some wood-shavings in his hair, which reminds Jensen of a dream (or was it a fantasy?) that he may have had about the man recently, which makes him blush so hard he’s having hard time maintaining his composure.

“Misha,” he says, ushering him inside. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to bother you, man.”

“Actually, I’ve been expecting you to contact me much sooner,” Misha says, slipping out of his jacket. “Oh, hello, there,” he adds when he notices Felicia, who beams at him from the floor.

“Hi, I’m Felicia. Jensen tells me you watch our show, so you probably recognise me.”

Misha nods. “Oh yeah. Marley, right? She’s actually one of my favourites on the show. Nice to meet you.”

Felicia shoots him a dazzling smile when they shake hands and Jensen can’t himself but frown a little, not really sure whether he’s a bit upset over the fact that Misha and Felicia are hitting it off so well, or because Misha didn’t seem even slightly miffed upon finding a woman in his apartment so late at night.

“I’ll open the bottle of wine in the fridge, then,” Felicia offers suddenly, and before Jensen has the chance to react in any way, she scurries off to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone in the living room.

Misha looks over all the artefacts scattered around the carpet, whistling under his breath. “Wow. That’s a lot of things.”

Jensen nods. “And it’s all your fault. You started this. So now you’re obliged to help me until this funeral is the best damn thing the Ackles family has ever put on.”

Misha laughs. “Like I said, I do like a challenge.”

A bottle of wine, several tapes, and a stack of intimate letters later, Jensen is drunk, confused, and a little turned on.

Felicia has long since fallen asleep on his couch, curled into a little ball under his fuzzy blanket, and he and Misha are sitting on the floor, passing a bottle of water between each other – neither of them feeling up to using a glass.

Misha chuckles. “I have to say, when I suggested that we try to uncover your uncle’s life’s secrets, I didn’t think we’d find a fucking Danielle Steel story. This is priceless.”

Jensen shakes his head. “I just don’t get it. Why don’t I already know about this? I mean, _Supernatural._ Jesus fuck. Why hasn’t he told anyone? And more importantly, how doesn’t the studio know?”

Misha shrugs. “Maybe they chose to forget. It’s all business to them. As for your uncle… maybe he just didn’t feel like any of you’d care. Or maybe he felt it was embarrassing. How did you first feel when you became an actor?”

Jensen takes a sip from the bottle, shrugging again. “Dunno.” (He does know.)

Misha squints at him. “You are such a bad liar.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I was embarrassed, ok? About being on _Days of Our Lives_ in particular. I wasn’t the manliest kid on the planet to begin with,” he vaguely gestures to his lips and his eyelashes, “and acting in a soap opera didn’t make it much easier.”

Misha cocks his head to one side as if he wasn’t quite getting it. Jensen signs. “Then again I suppose you wouldn’t get it what with your bulging carpenter muscles and all,” he says before he can stop himself, and _hello_ , maybe it’s time to stop drinking.

Misha, to his credit, doesn’t react to that except for quirking that eyebrow again. So Jensen continues.

“You know what, though? I sucked it up and I kept on grinding and all those people who were laughing at me the first couple of months ate their words when they saw me driving my brand new car. I was so proud.”

Misha offers him a smile, gently taking the bottle from his hands to take a swig. Jensen can’t help but stare at him as he drinks, fascinated by the way he swallows the wine. He feels like he’s about to melt into the floor.

“Not to devalue your experience, Jackles, but I don’t think your uncle was making that kind of money with this radio show.”

Jensen shrugs, grateful for the fact that Misha isn’t interested in addressing the elephant in the room. “Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it was very successful. That’s probably why they sold it to the WB. That still doesn’t explain why he never told anyone from the family, though.”

Misha squints his eyes. “I feel too drunk right now to make any rash judgements, but some of the stuff that I read in the letters suggested he was in some kind of a feud with his friend? A partner maybe?”

“What do you mean a partner?” Jensen squints his eyes. “Like he was a-”

Misha rolls his eyes at him. “Not at all, you idiot. A working partner. Nice to know how you feel about _that_ , though.”

Jensen can feel his cheeks burn. “That’s not-”

Misha waves his hand. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is there _is_ a person that must have been pretty important to your grandfather once.”

Jensen sighs, stretching to pick up one of the letters off the floor. “Ok, but I mean, from these letters it looks like they had a pretty rough falling-out. He seems to have cared about this lady, though. If only we could talk to _her._..”

Misha rolls his eyes again, but this time good-naturedly, snatching the envelope from his hand. “I don’t know about the US Postal Service, but here in Canada, letters usually come with a return address.”

And really, Jensen could slap himself.

* * *

The first time he’s alone in a car with Misha is on a Sunday and he’s so hungover he contemplates whether he even should be driving for their road-trip.

Then again, it’s barely a road-trip if you’re just driving 45 minutes to Belcarra.

Still, he’s a little annoyed that Misha doesn’t seem to be at all affected by their wine-drinking. Maybe it’s all the green tea he consumes every day. He’s back in his leather jacket, his hair is artfully tousled, and there’s a pair of shades sitting on his nose that make him look much more like a movie star than Jensen, who was so sick this morning he was glad he managed to roll out of bed and roll into some jeans and a shirt, which isn’t usually how he likes to do things, especially when he wants to impress someone.

Not that he wants to impress anyone today. He’s staying firmly in denial. Denial’s a good place for him. Felica and Jared be damned.

“From what I’ve found on the internet, Dottie Honeydew still lives at that address, so it shouldn’t be hard to find her,” Misha says, continuing to drink his green tea through a straw so loudly Jensen feels like his head is going to pop.

“Could you please stop that?” he grumbles. “How are you so fucking chipper in the morning, anyway?”

Misha shrugs, but sets his cup on the dashboard obediently. “I went for a run, did a little yoga, masturbated…”

Jensen is just glad there isn’t much traffic, because that could have ended badly. “TMI, dude!”

Misha snorts. “You’re just too easy, Ackles. Maybe you should do some of that, by the way. You might even relax for once in your life.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, gripping the steering wheel more firmly. “I’m plenty relaxed, thank you,” he snaps in a very _un-_ relaxed manner, trying not to think about what Misha has just suggested.

Needless to say Jensen is relieved when the invasive car ride is finally over as they pull up in front of a dainty old house in Belcarra. They have gotten so close to the ocean that when Jensen opens the door he can barely hear his thoughts through the sound of rain beating down on the water.

“Well what do you know, it’s raining again,” Misha exclaims next to him as he climbs out of the car, eyeing the house curiously. “You think she’s home?”

Jensen shrugs. “Let’s find out.”

The old lady that answers the door when they ring the bell is so adorable Jensen can barely suppress the “aww” coming out of his mouth.

She is small, very wrinkly, with grey fluffy hair, huge glasses covering half of her face, wearing a pristine black dress down to her knees, white stockings, and honest-to-god _heels_. Jensen wouldn’t be surprised if she were hiding pearls under her turtle-neck to complete the _Downton Abbey_ -esqe image.

“How can I help you, boys?” she asks, looking up at them from between the doors as if she’s thinking they’ve come here to rob her.

“Um…” Jensen trails away instantly, unsure of what to say. He’s also conscious of the fact that there’s water dripping down his nose and ears which is not helping matters very much.

“Hi, Mrs. Honeydew,” Misha immediately takes the lead, sensing Jensen’s discomfort. He offers her his hand, flashing a dazzling smile. “My name is Misha and this is Jensen. We’re here on behalf of Mr. Ernie Ackles. We believe you might be of help to us.”

Jensen swears he sees a flash of recognition in the old lady’s eyes, so he slides his hand into his pocket and fishes out one of the letters they found in Ernie’s place.

“We know you and Ernie knew each other,” he says. “You seemed to care a lot about him.”

“Good god, that was a _long time ago_ , boys,” she says, one of her hands clutching at her heart. She eyes the letter. “How did you get a hold of this?” And then more curtly: “Have you read this?”

Jensen scratches the back of his neck. Should they tell her Ernie’s dead? She seems very old and withered. She might not take it well at all. He looks at Misha, who, fortunately, comes to the rescue again.

“We have, Mrs. Honeydew, but only because we were trying to get information about Mr. Ackles. “Well, Jensen, in particular,” he adds, lightly touching Jensen’s back (and yep, those are legitimate shivers running down his spine that have nothing to do with the rain).

“So?” Dottie frowns, crossing her arms on her chest, while looking Jensen up and down. Needless to say Jensen is not very happy to be looked up and down by adorable old ladies.

What Misha is trying to say is… Ernie… I mean, Mr. Ackles died recently. We’re here to ask you a couple of question, that’s all.”

Dottie’s eyes darken upon hearing the news, but she still doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you the police?” she asks, squinting at them. “Because if poor old Ernie was murdered, I damn sure did not do it!”

“He wasn’t murdered, _jesus_ ,” Jensen’s eyes bulge out. He rubs his hands against his wet face. “Look, I’m Ernie’s nephew and somehow I’m in charge of organising his funeral. This here is my undertaker and he’s helping me find out more about my uncle so we can do him justice with the ceremony. That’s the whole story.”

Dottie blinks at him a couple of time, before stepping back into the house and pushing the door wide open. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?” she exclaims, and it’s a surprisingly strong voice coming out of such a sweet little lady barely standing on her feet. “Come in!” she adds, rolling her eyes. “You’re both absolutely dripping wet!”

Jensen rolls his eyes, instantly getting elbowed in the ribs by Misha, who whispers into his ear: “Good Job, Jackles!”

When they’re all sitting down in the living-room, Dottie somehow meanwhile having managed to literally cover the coffee table with tiny cakes and muffins and cups of tea, Jensen hands her the letter again. “I think you should have it,” he says. “Actually, I should give you all of them when I get the chance to see you again,” he sighs. “They’re not mine to keep.”

Dottie nods with a small smile, taking the envelope from his hand and opening it with shaking fingers.

“I used to be madly in love with your uncle, you know,” she admits, her cheeks colouring a little, as her eyes scan over the lines that she wrote such a long time ago. “In fact, he used to look a lot like you, young man. _Cowboy chic_ ,” she adds, eying Jensen’s old jeans. “Have some of that tea, boys, while it’s still hot.”

Jensen can feel his own face crimson. “We could sort of tell from the letters that you loved him,” he says, a bit embarrassed about having stuck his nose into Dottie’s intimate secrets. “What happened? Why did you lose touch? You guys had a fight?”

Dottie laughs. “Of course not. I mean, I don’t think so. When Ernie left we were very good friends, actually.”

“Just friends then?” Misha raises one eyebrow. Jensen reaches for a biscuit.

Dottie nods. “We were never to be anything more, alas,” she admits with a wistful look. Her eyes scan over Jensen again. “So, you never knew your uncle?” She asks. Jensen shakes his head. “Then maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this. He obviously didn’t want to share any of this, otherwise, he’d done it a long time ago.”

Jensen frowns. “But what actually happened between you? Did it have something to do with the radio show and uncle’s old partner?”

Dottie’s eyebrows fly upwards and she leans back in the armchair. “Ahh, so I see you _do_ know some things.”

Jensen nods. “There were some old tapes and scripts in Ernie’s apartment. And I don’t know whether you watch a lot of television up here,” he adds with some embarrassment, “but I’m in this show _Places_ on the CW, which is suspiciously similar to uncle Ernie’s show...”

Dottie giggles. “Oh that’s why you seem so familiar! Well, would you look at that. Seems almost like fate, doesn’t it?” Her smile soon falls, though. “That story should have never been rewritten like this, though. Bert wrote a horror drama not a damn fantasy soap opera!”

“So it _is_ the same script, then!” Jensen exclaims, his hand inadvertently gripping Misha’s knee before he realises what he’s doing. Misha looks at him with a surprised but pleased smile while Jensen puts his hand away so quickly as if he got burned, determined not to look at the man in the foreseeable future.

Dottie, meanwhile, keeps nodding. “He was so mad when Ernie sold that story to television. Kept saying it was written for the radio and that TV never did horror justice. He must be livid every time he sees it.”

“Wait, so that’s why they stopped talking to each other? Ernie sold the show to the WB without Bert’s consent?” Misha asks, leaning forward on the sofa, interest twinkling in his eyes.

Dottie shakes her head, smoothing her palm over her hand-writing on the letter. “Yes and no, young man. I would say that when Ernie sold the show, it was just the tip of the iceberg. Generally, though, this was not a professional feud. This was a lover’s quarrel.”

Jensen nearly chokes on his own spit. “Come again?”

Dottie gives him an odd look. “Just like I was madly in love with Ernie, Ernie was madly in love with Bert.”

“And Bert was in love with you,” Misha interjects. “That’s why neither of you talked to each other.”

Dottie sighs. “It was certainly a mess.”

“So I take it Bert wasn’t jazzed about Ernie’s _advances_ then,” Jensen notes, hating, absolutely _hating_ how difficult it is for him to have this conversation. He’s certainly a mess himself, he is.

“Not at all,” Dottie shakes her head sadly. “Bert is a man’s man, you see, and although it was the early eighties, it didn’t go down well with him. They were best friends before, you understand.”

“I see,” Misha nods. “So before that, they wrote the show together and it aired on the radio?”

Dottie smiles. “Bert was the writer and Ernie was the narrator. And there’s something else you have to understand, boys, it wasn’t a success at all. I’m only saying this so you don’t blame your uncle for selling the story to the big studio too much. You see even back then radio was thought to be going out of business soon. Soon enough the interest dwindled and people didn’t feel like listening to old-school radio programmes.”

“So they were kicked off the air, then?” Misha raises his eyebrows.

“They were kicked off the air and none of them had any money saved up. Plus they didn’t really communicate by that time because of how Bert behaved towards Ernie.”

“So he went and sold the story behind Bert’s back, then,” Jensen nods, thinking he’s finally getting a good grip of the story. “Poor Bert!”

Misha shakes his head. “We don’t know the whole story, Jensen.”

They lock eyes and for a moment Jensen think he sees something like pity in Misha’s eyes. Is Misha pitying him? But why?

“One way or another, I believe we should also visit Bert and tell him about Mr. Ackles’ passing. Would you happen to know where we might find him, Mrs. Honeydew?”

Dottie takes a sip of her tea. “You should try the Richmond Curling Club,” she says with a wink. “He quit writing after that whole thing with Ernie and started teaching curling to little kids. I’m sure he’s got some groups on Saturday. Still fit as a fiddle that man,” she adds with a mischievous smile.

Jensen perks up. “Oh, but that’s in Vancouver, right? So they both stayed in the city, even after their falling out?”

Dottie nods. “Believe what you want to believe, but _I believe_ those two could never stay too far away from each other, even when they were hating each other. I also believe Bert will be very saddened by Ernie’s passing though he won’t show it.”

Jensen stands up from the sofa, dusting off his jeans. “Well I guess we should head back to the city then,” he says. The tea and cakes have helped his hangover a little and he’s ready to tackle this. The whole story has filled him with a strange feeling of longing, like this is now something he has to do right. His personal mission.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Misha says, and stands up as well.

Dottie graciously accompanies them to the door, giving them both shiny smiles as they say their goodbyes.

“Oh and by the way, before we go, would you happen to know anything about what kind of music and flowers uncle Ernie used to like?” Misha suddenly remembers and hell yes, this is why it’s good to always take your undertaker with you.

Dottie taps her index finger against his chin, smiling. “Well boys, with the music it’s easy as pie. Your uncle Ernie really liked opera.”

Of course uncle Ernie liked opera. Of course he did.

She rolls her eyes when she notices Jensen’s face. “I know it may seem stereotypical to you, young man, but Ernie and I never missed a production back when I was still crazy about him. For me, those moments in the audience when we clutched each other’s hands during _Evita_ , were some of the best dates I’ve ever been on. For Ernie, of course, it was all about the opera.”

“That’s a very touching story, Mrs. Honeydew,” Misha smiles at Dottie, lightly touching her shoulder. “Thank you for sharing it. We’ll let you know the details about the ceremony ok?”

“Please do, darling,” she nods. “I’m afraid I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to come – the body’s not as young and flexible as it used to be – but I will keep Ernie in my thoughts and I will do my best to make an appearance.”

Jensen can only smile back. “Thank you for your time, really, Mrs. Honeydew,” he says, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Call me Dottie, all right? You’re practically family anyway. Oh and didn’t you forget something?” She asks with a twinkle in her eye.

Misha shrugs while Jensen shakes his head in confusion.

“The flowers,” she reminds them. “I feel like I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think peonies are your best bet, boys. And you should ask Bert why.”

“That is very mysterious of you, Dottie,” Jensen laughs. “But sure, we’ll try and ask him.”

It’s only when they’re back in the car that Misha bursts out laughing, actual tears leaking from his eyes as he tries to contain himself.

Jensen, who is still very much in shock about the news concerning his uncle, can only frown. “What’s wrong with you now?”

Misha stops laughing, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just realised your uncle was in love with a guy named Bert.”

Jensen’s frown deepens. “So? I heard, I’m not deaf.”

Misha cocks his head to one side. “You really don’t get it? Just… think about it...”

Jensen blinks a couple of times and then he rolls his eyes, his shoulders relaxing.

“Shut up,” he says, throwing Misha’s empty Starbucks cup at him.

* * *

The first time Jensen plays curling it’s still Sunday, he’s still hungover, and he’s really, _really_ bad at it.

To make the matters worse, uncle Ernie’s old flame Bert turns out to be a cranky old bat.

“Look, boys, if you can’t even learn how to handle the broom right, you have no business dealing with me, eh?!”

“Remind me why we have to do this again?” Jensen grits between his teeth at Misha who just laughs in answer. Of course, he must be a fucking genius at the game (Jensen really can’t tell), because all Canadians were probably born with the rules inscribed in their heads and the ability to throw stones engraved in their hearts. For one, he seems to be be moving across the ice with ease in the special shoes, while Jensen constantly loses his balance, which makes him look like a newborn calf trying to walk for the first time.

Misha flashes a devilish smile. “We’re doing this because you want your uncle Ernie to have the best funeral ever?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and grips the broom more firmly in both his hands, inwardly cursing this Bert guy for being a grumpy asshole.

“Are you seriously not going to tell us anything unless I learn to play this crazy game?” He shouts in the old man’s direction. “I mean we could play golf instead, I’m really good at golf!” he offers.

For such an old man, Bert certainly does have a lot of energy in him. A lot of _angry_ energy, it seems. He slides closer to Jensen, staring at him with squinty eyes.

“You’re a lot like your uncle, you know that?”

Jensen frowns, handing the broom to Misha so he can cross his hands on his chest defensively. “What do you mean by that?”

“Would you gentlemen maybe like to come off the ice for this conversation?” Misha suggests and Jensen is really _really_ grateful.

Bert gives him a dark look. “I mean what I’m saying. He was a quitter as well. Just like you,” he says, snatching the broom back from Misha’s hand and sliding away towards the exit. “We’re done here, then.”

“I think we should go after him,” Misha says, nudging Jensen forward, causing him to lose his balance on the slippery surface.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jensen exclaims when he in the very next moment finds himself in Misha’s arms, and he doesn’t mean to snap, he really doesn’t… it’s just that this whole day has been tough and he really wishes it were over and Misha’s strong arms holding him around his waist and his blue eyes watching him from above is only making everything a hundred times worse...

“I didn’t want you to break your neck, _you dick,_ ” Misha says this with a laugh, probably sensing Jensen’s just in a tense mood and choosing not to comment on his strange behaviour.

On the one hand, Jensen is grateful, but on the other hand… who gave Misha the right to be so in tune with Jensen’s emotions? It’s creepy, that’s what it is. And no, it doesn’t make Jensen feel all warm and tingly inside. _No._

He jerks away from Misha’s grip, balancing himself on unsteady feet, before slowly moving in the direction where Bert has disappeared to, his temples pulsing.

They manage to catch him in the locker-room, standing in front of a mirror, already half-changed into his regular clothes, attempting to run his hand through his thick, curly, but greying hair.

He does _not_ seem happy.

“Will you come to the funeral, sir?” Misha asks politely, toeing off the curling shoes and bending down in search for his boots under the bench.

“Why did you call us quitters? Me and my uncle, I mean?” Jensen jumps in before the old man can give Misha an answer.

Bert eyes Jensen in the mirror, the intensity of his dark gaze amplified by the dark expanse of his face.

“You didn’t learn how to curl, didya?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You barely touched the stones,” he snorts. “And as for that old goat, he was never tenacious either. He was ready to sell off something we’ve been working on for five years in a matter of _days_. Just because the radio industry was dying. And when I told him _no_ , that we’d pull through, that the show was not intended for radio, he didn’t listen to me. He was too scared, too greedy. A quitter.”

“He loved you,” Misha says quietly, almost accusingly.

Bert leans against the mirror with both of his hands, the wrinkles on his face suddenly looking much deeper. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t have sold our fucking child to the WB, young man. I’m not coming to his funeral and _that’s that_.”

Jensen can feel his face redden. “You can’t be serious. You think I don’t know how you must have hated him for how he felt towards you? How afraid he must have been? We spoke to Dottie this morning!”

Bert turns around, squinting. “You talked to Dottie? And she told you that I hated Ernie?”

Jensen frowns. “Well, _no_ …”

Bert crosses his arms on his chest. “Then you don’t know anything about this, boy.

“Let’s just leave, Mish, I don’t think he’s going to help us,” Jensen sighs, his temples beginning to pulse again.

Misha nods. “Just one last thing, though. Dottie told us to ask you about peonies,” he says, and Jensen turns back around, because he wants to see Bert’s reaction to this.

Bert’s hand freezes halfway to his hair. “She told you that?”

He sighs. “Look, guys, you look like reasonable men. What happened between me and Ernie was ugly, I’m not going to lie to you. I might have had some problems with his… _sexuality_ ,” he pronounces the word as if it was foreign, “and he might have hated me for trying to keep _Supernatural_ on air, but we didn’t lose touch completely.”

“What do you mean?” Misha cocks his head to one side.

Bert shrugs. “Peonies. Everytime my birthday rolled around, like a clockwork. A whole bouquet of them. Delivered to my apartment. As a way of saying sorry, I guess…” Bert trails away, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “I did wonder whether something happened to him when I didn’t get them last week,” he adds in a more uncertain voice. He then turns on the water to wash his hands, signalling the conversation is over.

And if Jensen wasn’t one hundred percent sure that this guy has no heart and is an old grump, he might have thought that he was crying and that the water was supposed to hide that.

“I think we should go,” Misha says, nudging Jensen towards the door.

* * *

The first time Jensen and Misha fight is on a Monday and it sucks ass. Mostly because Misha’s right. About everything.

Filming’s been cancelled, probably because they were supposed to be shooting exteriors and it’s still raining buckets outside, so Jensen decides to call Misha on a whim. One thing leads to another and he ends up getting invited to his house.

While he’s not very excited about the Bert conversation they’ll probably end up having, he is pretty excited about getting to see Misha’s place, which he apparently built himself.

And it is truly gorgeous – big, sunlit, and smelling of wood-shavings, much like the man himself. Everything seems to be made out of wood and Jensen has to restrain himself from touching it all, even though the smooth surface of the walls is begging to be caressed.

Misha is wearing his undertaker duds, since he has to leave for the office soon, and Jensen can’t help but feel like maybe coming here was a mistake, when he sees how tight those slacks really are around his ass.

It's a strange day all around.

They’re sitting on the couch in the living room and drinking soda, neither of them really sure where to start with all the mess, when Misha reaches for the remote a bit too close to Jensen’s knee, and Jensen jerks away on reflex.

“Would you fucking stop that, Jensen,” Misha says in a calm yet charged tone of voice. “It’s like you’re constantly thinking I’m about to molest you or something.”

Jensen blinks. “What are you talking about? I never said anything like that.”

Misha frowns. “Look, let’s just get it out in the open. I’ve only known you for a week, but I think I know what this is all about. And I’m telling you, you don’t have to worry, ok?”

Jensen feels his heart pick up speed. “And I’m telling you I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. And it’s true, in a way, he doesn’t know what _exactly_ Misha is talking about, although he has a pretty good idea where it may lead. And he doesn’t want to go there.

Misha sighs, taking a sip of his soda, before turning back to Jensen with weary look. “I like you, Jensen, ok? I think I’ve been making it painfully clear for a week now. _But,_ ” he adds immediately, not even letting Jensen interject, “I won’t be played with like this ok? You keep giving me mixed signals. I mean, it’s ok, if you don’t feel the same way, I’m not fifteen, I can get over it, but please, stop jumping like you’ve been stung by a bee everytime I touch you.”

Jensen swallows. “ _You like me._ ”

Misha likes him. The sexy, goofy, snarky undertaker who’s about to take care of his dead uncle’s funeral _likes Jensen._ And he actually said it. Out loud. Misha likes him.

Misha snorts. “Are you serious right now?”

Jensen shrugs. “I… I don’t know what to say.” And indeed, he doesn’t. And even if he did, he can’t say anything. He just can’t. And so nothing comes out.

Misha lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Ok.”

Jensen’s frown deepens. “Ok?”

Misha nods, the tone of his voice changing completely, to a much colder one. “Ok. Let’s talk business then. Did you give any thoughts to whether you were thinking about cremation or burial?”

Jensen blinks. What? Really? I don’t even _want_ to think about this stuff today,” he says. “I’m still just really overwhelmed by what we found out yesterday. I can’t make big decisions right now. Not about Ernie...”

“Is that maybe because you don’t want to get in touch with your emotional side? Because the whole thing is hitting really close to home for you?”

Suddenly, Jensen feels his blood boil.

“I don’t know what the hell you _think_ you know about me, Collins, but you don’t know me as well as you think you do. You think your new age crap can uncover everyone’s darkest secrets? Well, guess what, life’s not that simple.”

Misha just stares at him, one hand still on the soda, the other one balled-up in his lap. The house is quiet.

“Life’s not a sequence of people and places. It’s a series of decisions that you have to make. A bad decision can cost you everything. My uncle knew this, _I_ know this, only you have to live in your own world full of happiness and sunshine all the time.”

Jensen takes another deep breath. “And you know what else? I think you’re fake. Your whole thing is fake – stoic hot Canadian lumberjack dedicating his life to caring about people who just lost someone? Right,” he snorts.

When Misha speaks again, his voice has gone much quieter. “I think we’re done here.”

Suddenly Jensen’s phone vibrates on the coffee table and he snatches it, sliding his thumb across the screen.

“That’s my friend Jared,” he says. “The shoot is back on. Look,” he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to look at Misha, whose expression has meanwhile turned into stone. “Just do your job, ok? I think you got enough information to organise this funeral without me. Money shouldn’t be a problem. I guess I’ll see you there,” he finishes with another sighs, getting up from the sofa.

Once he slips into his car outside Misha’s beautiful home, he rubs his hands against his face, attempting to calm himself down. Somehow that wall he’s been carefully building over the years, brick by brick, is being torn down right now and he doesn’t know how to build it back up. And what is worse – he’s not even sure he _wants to_ anymore.

But maybe his uncle was right. Maybe quitting is the best option. Maybe being brave and taking life as it goes isn’t always the right choice.

He sighs, finally starting the car.

When he finally arrives on set, Jared and Felicia are already in full costume, looking annoyed.

“What happened to _you_?” Felicia exclaims when she notices him. “You look like someone’s just died.”

Jensen rolls his eyes at her really hard, because however bad he’s feeling, stupid jokes should never be left without a proper answer.

“Seriously though,” Felicia adds, “weren’t you supposed to be at Misha’s this morning? I thought you’d be more chipper after that.”

Jensen shrugs, not really sure what he should say. He feels like his face kind of says it all anyway.

Jared quirks an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

Jensen doesn’t even have the energy to banter with him. “Something like that. See you later, guys,” he mumbles, before he takes off in the direction of his trailer.

“You know you can talk to me about it, right?”

Jared almost makes him jump out of his skin when he enters the trailer in full Jam costume, looking extremely ridiculous in his oversized flannel and stone-washed jeans.

Jensen sighs. “I know. It’s just-” he looks up at Jared and something breaks in him. “You know what, maybe I do want to talk about it.”

Jared flashes him a wide smile. “I never thought I’d see the day!” He plops down next to Jensen on his bed, leaning back against the wall. “First of all, everything’s gonna be fine, brother, ok? Whatever it is, it’s just a blip. Blips happen. Ok?”

Jensen nods. “Ok.”

Jared beams. “Great. Now start at the beginning, please. And don’t skip any saucy details.”

Jensen laughs. “There are no… _you’re a dick, Padalecki,_ ” he says instead, when he sees the cheeky expression on Jared’s face.

And maybe it _is_ going to be fine after all.

* * *

The first time Jensen speaks at a funeral is on a Sunday and he has a lump in his throat in a size of Vancouver Lake.

On top of it, it’s been almost a week since he last spoke to Misha save a couple of cold and clipped phone conversations about the funeral – what Ernie should be wearing in the coffin (and how the hell should Jensen know?), how many people were coming to the ceremony (he wished he had any idea about that, too), whether he wanted live music, or if anyone wanted to speak…

With the last one, Jensen hesitates, because… he realises nobody from the family really knew Ernie… or at least _not_ the Ernie that he has come to know in the past two weeks. And despite everything Jensen’s been denying, there’s a _definite_ connection between the two of them. So it soon dawns on Jensen, that maybe it should be _him_ who gives the speech.

It’s only now that he realises what a colossally bad idea that was.

And it’s not like the room’s packed – there are only about a dozen people – but it’s still a dozen more than Jensen would ideally prefer, so it’s not very helpful.

“Hello everyone,” he addresses the room, his throat feeling uncomfortably dry. “First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for coming today. The Ackles family,” he nods in the direction of his parents and siblings, “uncle Ernie’s friends,” he smiles at Dottie who gives him a sweet wave, “everyone else who’s come to support us today,” he looks at Jared and Felicia who give him an encouraging thumbs-up, “and of course to Mr. Collins for throwing all of this together,” he adds, firmly decided that he’s not going to look for Misha in the crowd when, somehow, their eyes manage to lock anyway and Jensen feels like he’s going to vomit. Misha’s face is still a stone, exactly the way it was when he left his house last Sunday.

Jensen forces himself to look away, focusing on Jared and Felicia instead.

“Anyway, I thought I would say a few words about uncle Ernie before the ceremony. I’ll be honest with all of you. I didn’t even know Ernie lived in Vancouver two weeks ago, let alone that he was an actor like me, so the past couple of days were like a crash course in Ernie Ackles,” he says, getting a few chuckles from the audience.

“Ernie Ackles kept to himself – a true Ackles,” he adds, now chuckling himself, albeit a bit bitterly. “That’s why while this ceremony is supposed to be the celebration of his life and the mourning of his sudden, sad death, I believe it it should also be a moment of reflection for all of us here.”

Jensen closes his eyes for a moment, drawing a shallow breath.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… don’t be quitters. If there’s something you want – go after it. Uncle Ernie didn’t quite manage to do that and ended up alone and bitter, dying in his old chair with nobody there to witness it. I hope none of us here have to go through that just because we’re too scared to take a leap of faith…” he trails off. “Just… don’t be quitters, ok?”

And just as he says it and the people start clapping, some even with tears in their eyes (Dottie and Jensen’s dad), Jensen can see Bert from the corner of his eye slipping into the hall and slowly moving towards the coffin. Jensen is so overwhelmed by the fact that he’s decided to come that his first thought is to run towards Misha where he’s talking to a guy in a baseball hat on the other side of the room, and tell him, before he remembers that that’s all gone to hell.

It’s when Jensen looks back at Bert, who hesitates at the flood of peonies scattered on and all around the casket, bending down to smell one of them, small smile spreading across his lips, when something finally snaps in him.

He crosses the room in a couple of strides, tapping Misha on his shoulder. “I need to talk to you, Misha,” he says, his voice surprisingly strong and unquivering, which is perhaps why Misha just sneers back at him.

“I don’t think so, Jensen.”

“Please?” he presses, trying to communicate with his eyes how freaking important this is, _especially_ with everybody (including his family) around.

“I’m a bit busy, as you can see,” Misha frowns. His voice is icy cold and Jensen has to chuckle to himself, because really, Misha could totally be an actor with all this talent if he wanted to.

“I don’t want to be a quitter, Mish,” he says, grabbing Misha’s collar and drawing him in so close their lips are only millimetres apart.

And there it is, the recognition in Misha’s eyes that he’s been waiting for. The surprise. The shock. And finally, the gladness.

And he knows that this might be good. This might truly be  _a good thing_.

“I’m giving you a chance to back out,” Jensen says, trying not to breathe too heavily because their chests are already touching and every single brush of their bodies against each other sends a shiver down his spine.

Misha quirks an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t that be _my line_?”

* * *

When they finally kiss, it’s still Sunday, and Misha tastes like green tea and Dottie’s biscuits.

Misha’s hands are wrapped around his waist and his knee has somehow managed to wedge itself between Jensen’s legs, and it’s delightful and really, really _bad_ at the same time.

Jensen doesn’t waste any time either and buries his fingers in Misha’s hair – something he’s been wanting to do ever since they met – deepening the kiss and drawing an inhuman sound out of Misha.

“Well, that’s very inappropriate, guys,” Jensen hears Jared chuckle from somewhere behind Misha and he suppresses the urge to flip him the bird to show him just _how_ inappropriate it can get.

“Get it, Jensen!” he hears his brother’s voice, and another enthusiastic sound that sounds suspiciously like his mother (“Good on you sweetie!”) following close behind.

“You know what,” Dottie’s voice rings out. “I feel like Ernie would have really enjoyed that.”

“Dottie!” Jensen finally interrupts the kiss, because you can’t really kiss someone when both of you are laughing. The pad of his thumb keeps stroking Misha’s cheek.

“I’m scandalised,” he says.

(He’s not really.)

* * *

The first time he wakes up next to Misha is on a Monday and it’s glorious. Or it would be, if he didn’t have to leave for a shoot in like half an hour.

“I don’t want to go,” Jensen whines into Misha’s pillow. "Why do I have to go?"

Misha snorts next to him. “Oh come on, did you forget about that meeting you got Bert with your boss at the funeral?”

Jensen makes a mming sound.

“This could be really good, you know. Maybe he’ll hire him and they’ll change the whole concept of the show. Maybe you’ll be a horror again! Bye bye, _Places_ , hello _Supernatural_!”

Jensen rolls on his back, blinking into the sunlight. “You think people are more interested in horror than soap operas? We’ll need something to convince Bobby that it’s worth the risk. Changing the whole concept of a TV show in a middle of its run is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had,” he muses.

Misha rolls his eyes. “With such low ratings… you’ll be out of business by next season anyway. I think it’s totally worth the risk. Plus, demons are hot,” ha adds, waggling his eyebrows.

“Mmm,” Jensen says, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. “Still doesn’t seem like enough motivation to get up from this bed.”

Misha chuckles. “It’s a good bed. I made it myself.” He drops a kiss on Jensen’s shoulder. “I have to go too, you know, those deceased aren’t going to dress themselves.”

Jensen pulls a face. “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on? Gross undertaking humour first thing in the morning?”

Misha winks. “Death is a part of life, Jensen. But if it really grosses you out, I’ll try to leave out the hardcore stuff. Puns are allowed, though, right?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Only if they’re funny. I don’t think you can be any worse than Jared in that area, though. Yesterday he asked me whether you’d be ‘nailing me’ anytime soon ‘like one of your coffins’. I had to excuse myself to go vomit.”

Misha quirks an eyebrow. “He's asking the right questions, Ackles. So far you've only been interested in doing the 'nailing' yourself as far as I can remember. Maybe it's time _I_ show you how good I am with the tools,” he adds, actually bursting into a little giggle at the end at the ridiculousness of the pun.

Jensen rolls his eyes even harder, although he can feel his skin tingle at the unspoken idea. “It’s going to be pure hell dealing with you _and_ Jared at the same time, isn't it.”

Misha beams at him. “Oh, but you love me.”

Jensen can feel his face heat up. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean your jokes are funny.”

Misha beams again and shifts on the bed, effectively rolling himself right onto Jensen. “Come on.”

Jensen grants him the kiss, running his fingers through Misha’s sleep-tousled hair, breathing in the smell of his skin.

When they’re done kissing, Misha stays on top of him, carefully distributing his weight so he doesn’t squish him, and lays his chin on the top of Jensen’s clavicle.

“So, what did you think about the ceremony anyway?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “It was beautiful. The speech was crappy, though,” he adds.

Misha shakes his head. “I think the speech was the best part, actually. He drops a kiss on Jensen’s chest, locking their eyes. “Guess you didn’t think you’d be here two weeks back, right?”

Jensen snorts. “What? In bed with a Canadian dude? I have to admit that at least the last part was a surprise.”

Misha rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant. I was thinking more in general. Like on your life’s journey. Oh and I’m not Canadian,” he adds matter-of-factly.

Jensen props himself up on his elbow, staring into Misha’s relaxed face. “What?”

Misha shrugs one naked shoulder. “Duh. I’m from Boston.”

Jensen keeps staring. “I feel like my whole life is a lie.”

Misha actually laughs at that. “Oh my! Sorry to disappoint.”

Jensen blinks a couple of time. “But you’re so… _Canadian_ , Mish!”

Misha laughs again. “I don’t even know what that means. You saw me with that broom at Richmond. I suck at that game.”

“No, you don't, and you _said_ –”

“Nuh-huh, I never said I was Canadian. You just assumed. I moved up here in my late twenties… well, actually, _moved_ is not a very accurate word…” he trails off, licking his lips.

“Remember when we first met when I told you about that homeless man who got some spare change from a random person on the street and they’re now a business owner?”

Jensen nods. “Vaguely. You were talking about the universe giving crap about people, if I remember it correctly.”

“Well that was me,” Misha smiles, his voice soft and soothing, very similar to what Jensen knows he’s learned to use on grieving families. Jensen realises that maybe he’s using it to soothe himself from those memories. “And it wasn’t just a bit of spare change, either. It was quite a lot of money.”

“That’s…” Jensen blinks, “I don’t know what to say to that. That I’m very glad that it happened?” His arms tighten around Misha’s naked torso.

Misha’s smile widens. “Maybe. Yes. So anyway, this old lady who gave me that money back then still lives here in Vancouver and everything that’s made of wood in her house is hand-carved by me. And this is going to sound morbid, but when she passes, I’m going to take care of everything for free for her family. I mean, it’s like what I’ve been telling you. There are no coincidences or luck. The people you meet and the places you’ve been are what gets you from point A to point B. It’s all about kindness.”

Jensen mirrors Misha’s smile. “You’ve gone philosophical on me again.”

Misha shrugs. “That I have. But you know what, Jackles? I think you secretly like it.”

Jensen snorts. “I will never admit to such a thing.”

“That’s ok,” Misha rubs his face against Jensen’s chest, making a sound like a dog when it’s stretching its paws first thing in the morning. Then he looks up at Jensen again, his expression hundred percent serious. “So how about that nailing, then?”

(They’re both pretty late for work that Monday.)

* * *

The first time Jensen and Misha visit Ernie’s grave in the Mountain View Cemetery is on a Tuesday and there are already flowers there. They’re peonies.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it, guys! BIG THANKS for reading you're all GIANT JENMISH TRASHCANS (and it's beautiful). If you liked the story and would like to signal boost it for us, please go see its post on the Cockles Big Bang blog. Our official posting date is May 27th.


End file.
